The Jester's Child
by Velvet D'Coolette
Summary: A new season, and we find Motley looking after his infant daughter by Mellisandre alone. But when Hennae goes missing, Motley has a frantic search of the dungeon to make if he is to find her. The first team offer help but are underwhelming. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

The Jester's Child

DISCLAIMER: Knightmare is (c) Tim Child. This fanfiction has been written for entertainment purposes only and does not seek to make a profit. Permission to reproduce this specific material may be granted by the author so long as you email first. (c)2008 .

CHAPTER 1

The sun sank toward the horizon, and as it did so it reached out through the sparse clouds in luminescent tendils, as if unwilling to let this corner of the world go. The dying light illuminated the walls of Dunshelm, better known to many as Knightmare Castle, always fading, fading. Weaker still it lit parts of the dungeon below, filtering in through glass windows and roofs, and cracks in the rock. And down there, in a humble little cell that led from an unassuming corridor with an incongruous glass ceiling, the light did its last work for the day.

Motley picked Hennae up from the soft sheepskin rug where he'd been playing with her. Hennae, his daughter of only one month, loved to have her feet moved and to be sung to softly. That was easy for her father, Motley; the jester, the professional performer, the joker of Knightmare dungeon.

"That's right, isn't it, honeysuckle," he said to her conversationally, his voice lowered to a soothing yet lilting tone. "Your daddy's the best comic in these 'ere dungeons!" Hennae gurgled as he swayed a little to rock her. He smiled at the sight of her: a tiny, yet contented-looking, baby. He wasn't a bad father if he said so himself, even if she didn't understand that 'honeysuckle' was just a fancy term of thingummyjig.

He reached over and pushed aside the hemp sackcloth that made for a door to their cell. Beyond it he saw the corridor that led on to others' living quarters. He looked up into the glass roof of the corridor: the light was nearly gone. "Speaking o' which, I think I'd better make your dinner."

Putting her back on the rug where she couldn't roll over and fall, he walked the short distance away to his stove, where he began to prepare milk to feed her. After a few seconds he glanced around at her and his heart glowed with pride and love again.

KNIGHTMARE

Later, the light had faded completely and a handful of tallow candles stood flickering around the room, dispersing their animal-fat scent and crackling occasionally. The little brass bells on his working outfit - hung up on the wall for the night - reflected those tiny flames with an increased richness of colour.

Hennae had drunk her fill and Motley was now walking to and fro, encouraging her to burp. Soon enough she did, and he laid her to rest in the cloth-lined trough he used as a cot. Her legs went out at right angles to her body in the curious way infants' legs did and he couldn't help but laugh softly. He stroked her cheek. "You're a precious little thing, you know?" he whispered. "I'll make sure you do." Pulling her cotton bedcloth partially over her, he left her to go to sleep.

A thought came to him. He checked his calender, and his suspicions were confirmed: autumn, he already knew, had set in. Now it was September. That meant that for a short time, the dungeon would open to a plane that would allow contact with outsiders. For Motley, that meant that Treguard would accept requests from adolescents to challenge the dungeon. And, as Motley knew Treguard so well - in fact, he had worked for the dungeon master before entering the dungeon himself - that meant that Treguard would benefit from a helping hand from Motley. After all, survival in the dungeon often depended on your friends and allies, so who on earth wouldn't choose to help the dungeon master, of all people?

He opened a chest by his side and rummaged through until he had found what he was looking for: a metal emblem impregnated with transferring magic, as made for him by Merlin. He placed it on the tabletop and moved his hands over it as the wizard had once shown him, so invoking the magic. It connected with its twin that was held in the upper reaches of Dunshelm.

Within a minute a face had appeared above the metal disc. "Greetings," Treguard's familiar voice boomed. "And to whom can I attribute this visitation?"

"S'me, dungeon master," Motley replied quietly so as not to wake Hennae.

KNIGHTMARE

Treguard had not been best pleased by this interruption. He was in the middle of preparing for the new influx of dungeoneers, and he always found such preparation stressful. He liked a little company, but ultimately, he preferred to keep himself to himself. Had he the power to choose, he wouldn't have challengers here at all. But the dungeon, a thing of magic, needed to be fed with energy and outsiders came up to the task brilliantly - not that he would ever tell the visiting teams that.

He had turned to the vista that the talisman opened up irritably, but on seeing that it was Motley had forced cheerfulness into his face and voice. Motley had once been a servant of his - as a groom and later as a joker - and had since found a place for himself in the dungeon making a living by entertaining the other folk there. Often, Treguard found Motley's manner and jokes irritating. He knew all of the jokes and the younger man's energy virtually brimmed over, which wasn't to Treguard's taste. However, Motley's recent loss was something for which he could do nothing but sympathise. Treguard knew the details and he suspected that looking after a baby alone must be quite a challenge, especially for a first-time father. Motley had initially been shattered by Mellisandre's death, and Treguard could not find it in his heart to blame the man. However, Motley's duty to his newborn daughter had rallied him with surprising speed, and Treguard found himself admiring the jester's resilience.

_The only way is onward,_ went the Knightmare tenet, _there is no turning back,_ and Motley had lived up to this admirably.

"D'you want any 'elp with the quests this year, dungeon master?" Motley enquired. Treguard had been expecting this question: Motley was always keen to assist. He nodded.

"Yes, Motley. I'm not sure of the shape level one will take this year, but I'd like you to spend as much time there as you can and offer the dungeoneers any clues or passwords you happen to know."

Motley made a happy, devil-may-care gesture and said, "Easy-peasy!"

"Thank you, Motley," Treguard replied and dispelled the visionary field.

KNIGHTMARE

Treguard paced to and fro in front of the fire, his hands clasped masterfully behind his back. It was the day of the first set of challengers and he was ready to receive them. His boots padded confidently but quietly over the fireside rug, and he listened intently for signs of life. Soon enough he heard footsteps scuffing the flagstones down the hallway, footsteps that came closer and moved at the speed of a not-yet-fully-grown human. He turned to receive the challenger.

"Enter, stranger!" he boomed.

A youngster held the tapestry out of the way and ducked under it. A boy, perhaps 12 years old, gazed at him dozily.

"Greetings, young stranger!" Treguard announced. "And who is the first to challenge my dungeon?"

"Ben," the lad replied, slightly sheepishly, Treguard thought.

"Well, young Ben, it is time for you to summon your advisors." Treguard felt inclined to sweep an arm expansively over to the three seats behind him, but he knew the general nature of challengers well and already suspected that neither Ben, nor his team, would be terribly responsive to even the most forced enthusiasm from him.

"Simon. Laura. James." With a rush of magic, the simple incantation brought the three guides into the room. They had already turned to look at Treguard and watched him just as sleepily as Ben had. _Hmm, yes,_ Treguard mused sourly, though his expression of knightly pride remained resolutely in place. _If the dungeon manages to find much energy in you lot I'll be surprised._ He took a breath to stretch his lungs and try to force a little more enthusiasm into the proceedings.

"Welcome," he said. He began to prepare Ben for entry to the dungeon.

KNIGHTMARE

Motley agonised as he paced to and fro across the clean-swept floor. He was taking a big risk being here, but not for himself. It was Hennae - she'd disappeared in the night. She was far too tiny and helpless to escape by herself, which meant that she must have been stolen. But who'd steal a baby, and for what? The first answers to that question chilled Motley to the bone; shuddered and rubbed his temples, and thought over his choice of response again.

He had no idea who had taken her so he didn't know where she was either. Every fibre in his body told him to run out through any one of these four doors and sprint, pell-mell, through the dungeon in search of her. Even now his muscles kept twitching as if to send him on that run.

But rashness was deadly in the dungeons, and he'd forced himself to think through his choices again. There was little point in him going anywhere without clues, and several pairs of eyes were always better than one. Earlier this morning when he'd first begun to formulate a plan to get her back, he'd desperately thought through the current inhabitants of the dungeon. Who could help him return her? Velda? She'd once assisted Treguard in Anwin Wood, but he doubted she could help even if he knew how to find her. The wall monsters? He wondered - they were as good for gossip as the proverbial fly on the wall, and perhaps they'd know something. And if they didn't know what had happened to Hennae, then the Oracle of Confusion might have something useful to say. That meant that Motley could get valuable clues about levels one and two. That just left level three.

Motley usually didn't dare go to level three. In fact, neither did most of the dungeon folk - it was just too dangerous. Not to mention dark, damp and dirty. But the dungeoneers and their advisors would cover the entire dungeon - hopefully - and if they did, they might well find her, or at least learn where she had been taken to.

He glanced urgently at the entrance to this room and thought, _Hurry up._ Please, _hurry up!_

KNIGHTMARE

Treguard watched over the guides' shoulders as Ben entered a new room. He entered the four-doored room that had been the place of deciding in the first season. He was pleased to see that Motley was present, but something immediately struck him as not quite right about the jester. Motley was pacing and looked as tense as a tiger in a cage, and even from this distance Treguard could tell he was unshaven. Treguard furrowed his brow, but decided to let the team speak first.

"Where am I?" Ben asked.

The team stayed silent for a moment as if waiting for some cue. Then Laura haltingly began to reply. "...Um. You're in a room... and there are four doors, two nearer..." Laura pointed at the visual field with her pen, as if she wished she could just point at the room to show Ben what was there. "...two further away... and there's a sort of joker, erm, pacing back and forth."

Treguard continued to watch Motley, who did indeed appear distressed. The younger man continued to ignore the dungeoneer a few seconds longer, as went the culture of the dungeon regarding these alien visitors. Finally he turned to Ben.

"'Ello. What's your name, then?" he asked - rather straight to the point, Treguard thought. Ben didn't answer, apparently waiting for word from his team on whether to reply or not. As Treguard continued to observe, he noted that Motley's muscles were straining, as if impatient for Ben to reply. "What's your name?" the jester repeated. That in itself was unusual - usually Motley was very patient with dungeoneers.

"Tell him your name, Ben," Simon instructed the dungeoneer.

"Ben," came the bland reply.

"Well, 'ello Ben. My name is Motley. Your quest is for the chalice, but you can't drink from-"

Treguard's frown deepened. He opened up a voice portal to the room Ben and Motley stood in. "Wait a moment, team. This isn't the kind of reception we would usually expect from the dungeon jester. Motley, what is the matter?"

At this, Motley looked up in the general direction of the voice-transferring charm and Treguard saw the look in Motley's eyes. Now he knew for certain something was wrong. He leaned forward to listen more closely. "It's Hennae, Treguard," Motley said, and Treguard straightened as the horror of Motley's situation dawned on him. "She's gone missin'. I dunno where she is and I dunno how to get her back!" So saying, he began to pace again, rubbing his upper arms as if to encourage his circulation. The bells on his costume rang out gently and merrily, but Motley looked anything but gentle and merry.

"Motley, I hardly know what to say." He half-wondered whether Ben and the team would respond to this, but while he waited for them to do so, he thought briskly through the available ways he might help. He came to a decision. "Well, team, it looks like we have our quest: to find and rescue Hennae."

Motley looked relieved, and then virtually pounced on Ben, making the young adolescent jump. "Can you do that for me, Ben? Can you find her?"

Ben didn't respond. "Say yes, Ben," said James.

"Yes," replied Ben automatically. Motley nodded his head.

"Okay, then. All I can tell you is that she's a month old, and she needs to be kept warm. I haven't checked all of level one yet, Ben, so take your pick of doors and I'll choose another one. Go on." He stood back, giving Ben plenty of room to maneuver.

In front of Treguard, the team whispered to eachother for several seconds. Eventually, mindfull of Motley's desperation, he prompted them: "Well, come on, team, life force energy is fading. You have your quest and a choice of paths. Now you must choose one."

"Um... okay Ben," Simon said haltingly. "Take three steps forward... Turn to your left. No, the other left... No, hang on, that _is_ left..."

Not for the last time this season, Treguard found himself biting his tongue.

KNIGHTMARE

Down in the depths of level three there was a cave, one that had been conjured into an alchemic laboratory by its sinister tenant. The walls had been moulded by sorcery so that shelves struck out from them, and hooks curled down from the high ceiling. The shelves held glass bottles and beakers and vials, filled with ingredients required by a high wizard: henbane juice, lizard blood, ivy tincture, goblin spittle and all manner of other unsavoury products. One hook held the partial dried body of a baby dragon, its tail reduced to a stump from repeated use of its magically-endowed flesh; another hook held a bunch of poisonous herbs. Other shelves housed books, their spines creased and weathered, held upright by evil-looking bookends fashioned from jet.

At the centre of this grim setting stood Mogdred. The pale man held the jester's baby in his arms, and watched her rub her nose with the knuckle of one hand and yawn while she dozed. _Yes,_ he thought, _she will be perfect._ "Well, youngster," he drawled, "I think we should begin, don't you?"

He walked over to the marble-topped table at the centre of the cave and placed her on it, then turned his back on her. She whimpered as the cold marble filtered through her swaddling and chilled her skin. He ignored her and continued to gather his reference book and spell ingredients; soon, she would be happier with cold temperatures in any case.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	2. Chapter 2

The Jester's Child

DISCLAIMER: Knightmare is (c) Tim Child. This fanfiction has been written for entertainment purposes only. Permission to reproduce this specific material may be granted by the author so long as you email first. (c)2008 .

CHAPTER 2

Motley stood before the wall monster Golgarach, his arms folded, his jaw set in determination. He'd already got the first two of the wall monster's riddles right, and now he was listening grimly to the third. He hoped for a perfect score: if he got it, then he had the chance to command Golgarach to release any information he had on Hennae's whereabouts.

"Camels," he replied. "The ships of the desert were called camels."

Golgarach blinked. "Truth accepted," he announced. Motley said nothing. The wall monsters lived in the fabric of the walls of Knightmare dungeon; they listened to and saw a lot, even when they chose not to reveal themselves - which was often, by all accounts. They were the best grapevine down here. "The password is Chalkpit; no other information is necessary, dungeon dweller," the monster concluded. "Rock I was, and rock I now become."

Motley spoke clearly to get the wall monster's attention before he disappeared entirely. "I command you. Tell me where Hennae's gone."

Golgarach blinked again, this time in surprise. He paused, and Motley saw momentary bewilderment pass across his stony face. "I know not what has become of the infant," he announced. "Until we meet again, flesh-dweller," he added, almost regretfully, Motley thought. And with that, Golgarach melted back into the stonework.

KNIGHTMARE

On the Creation of Monsters: Growing a Dryad

_A dryad is the result of a hybridisation between a member of the animal kingdom and a member of the plant kingdom. Such a mix is impossible by natural means, therefore such hybridisation can only be brought about with magic._

_Creating a dryad is a long and complicated process. A body, animal or vegetable, is built from individual pieces, each far tinier and as numerous as grains of sand on a beach. Each of these pieces must be manipulated to make a living entity into a dryad. See annexe XI for the order in which these must be processed._

_Each one of these pieces contains instructions for how it is to behave. The first action that must be taken is to alter the instructions to allow the entity to sustain itself. In the case of turning an animal or human into a dryad this requires preparing them as such that the body becomes able to produce chlorophyll, which plants use to make use of sunlight. Refer to spell ii.V and use in conjuction with preparation no. CLVII, oak or elm variation._

_As soon as is possible after that the subject must be altered to as to be able to use the sugars that this chlorophyll produces. This is the riskiest part and requires a good measure of skill. Refer to spell variation V. use in conjunction with incantation _

KNIGHTMARE

Motley had already cleared the other rooms of level one, and was fairly sure that Hennae hadn't been brought here. The truth was that he was almost certain, deep down, that she'd been taken at the very least to level two, but more likely to level three. If he was right about that then he didn't know what to do: level three was incredibly dangerous. Although he'd been there on a few occasions, he avoided it if possible. Now he began to suspect he would have to go.

Another reason he hadn't gone yet was that he knew most friendly folk in the dungeon didn't go there either, so he'd have a hard time persuading more people to search with him. However, the dungeoneers invariably had business in the depths, which was why he'd waited for the challenger. But this dungeoneer didn't seem particulary bright, and that worried him.

Motley kept himself out of sight of the dungeon master and guides, hidden behind a stone column as Ben was maneuvered awkwardly past, straight into the path of the lion's-head doorway. As he watched, a yellow ray blasted a hole into the stonework at Ben's feet and he suddenly stopped. Another two blasts took out the slabs to his left. Ben side-stepped to his left, leaving one foot teetering on the edge of the drop, and Motley's heart leapt into his mouth. Then the dungeoneer hurriedly side-stepped right instead: it looked like his advisors had realised their mistake. Set askew, Ben walked diagonally toward the doorway - and almost into another hole in the floor. He then stopped, turned too far right, shuffled forward, turned too far left, shuffled again, and finally turned right and walked on, almost colliding with the door frame as he passed through.

Motley let out a breath of exasperation. This team would need help if they were even going to get to level two. He thought about the route they were taking. Surely there as some way he could make the path easier? Then his shoulders stiffened - he knew where they were headed, and he knew the danger they were in: beyond this room lay the Brangwen's haunt, and beyond that, Lillith's lair.

Lillith was a vengeful witch. Three weeks ago Motley had escorted Mellisandre into Lillith's lair. They'd been stretching their legs and getting re-aquainted with the dungeon after the days Mel had been confined to her cell while she'd been heavily pregnant. Motley and Mel had a reputation for being pranksters and for blundering into rooms when other people were there, which meant that they often annoyed other dungeon-dwellers. It was never on purpose, but that was still how they were. Lillith, irritated by the intrusion, had simply sneered and cast a spell that had swept Mel down into the depths below. Motley clamped his eyes shut for a moment as that scream rang in his ears again: a scream that had cut dreadfully short.

Although he had no stomach to see the witch again, he knew she'd be just as likely to kill Ben if he didn't pick up the right things from the clue room. He left through the right-hand door - one the dungeoneer's advisors never saw - and took the shortcut to Lillith's domain.

KNIGHTMARE

Ben had reached the level one clue room. James had just directed him to the table and he stood in front of it, awaiting further instructions. In the small space between his helmet and chest he saw the items on the table: a pineapple, an Aladdin's lamp, a bar of gold and an elaborate glass goblet.

"You've reached the clue room," Treguard boomed from somewhere near the team, and Ben listened. "However, congratulations will have to wait as there is food here and Ben's life force is at present critical."

"Pick up the pineapple, Ben; put it in your knapsack," Laura instructed. Ben did so, feeling its spikiness and coolness in his hand, and opened the flap of his knapsack. The pineapple's stiff leaves made it tricky to put in, but he managed it.

Magic washed through the room and a female voice spoke from just behind him. "Who dares to steal from the Brangwen-Shee? Turn and face me. Please me with truth and the table will be yours to plunder."

Ben's team were quick to instruct him. "Turn around, Ben," said James. This he did.

"I shall begin with my first," The wall monster said, more placidly.

_"Run the race, leap the furthest,  
Be the best and win the crown.  
But tell me of this diadem:  
What did they make it from?"_

He frowned under the Helmet of Justice as he heard this riddle. He figured he knew the answer but didn't want to say anything until he heard what his team thought. He listened to them.

"Uh, gold?" suggested Simon.

"No, 'cos it was the Olympic Games," Laura said. "I think it was laurel leaves, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's laurel leaves!" Simon confirmed, sounding suddenly confident. "Ben, say, 'laurel leaves'."

"Laurel leaves," Ben announced into the darkness.

"Falsehood!" the Brangwen intoned. "Olive leaves was the truth I sought."

Ben pulled a face at himself. He heard a rustle of disappointment through the Helmet - it seemed the others were worried by this early failure, too. He'd thought it was laurel leaves as well, and suddenly answering these questions seemed pretty scary. Well, there were two more and maybe they'd get them right. Maybe.

_"The Egyptians kept a sacred beast  
To live inside the house.  
But what was their esteemed guest -  
A dog, or cat, or mouse?"_

Again Ben's world retreated into almost-silence. The only sounds he heard were his own breathing and hushed tones as his team conferred again. He stood helpless, unable to take part for fear of giving the wrong answer. He listened more closely to his team:

"I think it's 'dog'."

"No, it was a cat!"

"No, no it's not. It's a dog because there was that black dog."

"It was called Anubis. Yeah, that must be it. Ben, say 'dog'."

"NO! No, don't say dog, Ben. Can you ask her to repeat it, please?"

Ben thought he heard Treguard tut in the background. Maybe they were doing worse than even he thought. He took a breath. "Can you repeat that, please?" he asked shyly.

"Once and once only.

_"The Egyptians kept a sacred beast  
To live inside the house.  
But what was their esteemed guest -  
Dog, or cat, or mouse?"_

Again the team conferred. Within a few seconds, James' voice filtered through to Ben.

"Ben, say 'dog'."

"Dog?" he asked hopefully.

"Falsehood!" snapped the Brangwen. "'Cat' was the truth I sought. Now for my third:

_"When the folk of olden times  
wanted fish to eat  
They made it keep with crystals white,  
and then enjoyed the meat._

"So tell me little flesh-creature, what where those crystals white?"

Silence fell around him and he listened once more to the muffled mutterings of his advisors. The whispering went on for several seconds and suddenly the wall monster snapped, "An answer! Name it now!"

James piped up. "Ben, say salt."

"Salt," Ben said through clenched teeth and winced, expecting the answer to be wrong.

"Truth accepted." He breathed a sigh of relief - as did his team. "One is your score. The password is Chalkpit. All other knowledge is denied." and with that, the walls hummed with magic and she disappeared.

"Right, Ben: turn around and face the table," said Simon. Ben did this. "What's on there?"

"There's an Aladdin's lamp, a glass goblet and a bar of gold." Again, Ben stopped and waited for Simon, James and Laura to talk about what they should take.

"You've been here for a long time, team," Treguard chipped in urgently, "Choose quickly!"

The team whispered to eachother a few seconds longer, and then Laura said, "Okay Ben, take the gold and the lamp. Now turn around... Walk forward... Now turn to your right... and walk forward."

KNIGHTMARE

Meanwhile, all was rather more relaxed in Lillith's stony lair. The demi-goddess lounged comfortably on her rock, examining herself in a hand mirror. Her hair was in excellent condition, she noted, but her skin was a different matter: it virtually appalled her! It was tight and dry. She needed to hydrate herself.

Somebody appeared across the way. She looked up haughtily, expecting a dungeoneer, only to find her expectation disappointed. Why, that was no dungeoneer! Instead stood that prattling moron Motley. Three weeks ago he and his little misfit wench had barged in here, squealing and laughing like five-year-olds. She'd shown them exactly what she'd thought of that: she'd swept the girl down into the depths, killing her instantly. The jester she spared, so that he could reflect on this. Maybe that would teach him to learn a little self-control. She deliberately affected a look of being distinctly underwhelmed by his presence. "I see. You've come back, have you?"

The fool looked uncharacteristically tense, and at first he said nothing. Eventually he found his tongue: "I've come to ask you a favour."

Lillith raised her eyebrows. "You dare to come _here_ and ask _me_ for favours? I do hope this has nothing to do with that silly wench of yours." Motley said nothing. In fact, he scarceley moved. He looked angry; usually that would amuse Lillith, but for now she had no interest in toying with him. She wanted to get back to her self-examination. "Well, fool, what _has_ it got to do with? Make it quick!"

"There's supposed to be a dungeoneer come through 'ere soon," he said. "He's a bit of an idiot. Just... let him through, Lillith."

Lillith snickered and leaned forward, leaning her chin on her hand. "And why should I let such an intruder through, fool? Tell me that."

"I'll do whatever you want, Lillith, just tell me and I'll do it." Well, this was an interesting turn of events! It appeared she had use of a slave!

"Hmm," Lillith mused lazily, and examined her nails. "I wonder what you might do for me. Ah! I know just the thing." She turned regally back to him. "I want you to find me a drinking glass. Something pretty." The fool said nothing, but turned and stalked back the way he had come. _Very dangerous, turning back,_ Lillith mused, but his risks were his own to take. So long as he came back to her with the glass she had ordered him to bring her. "Hurry!" she called good-naturedly.

There was no reply.

KNIGHTMARE

Barely two minutes later Motley returned, the glass from the Brangwen's clue room in his hand. Before he entered Lillith's lair again he took a breath and tried to exhale the venom he felt for her. How dare she even mention Melly? How _dare_ she?!

He passed through and she loomed into sight, preening herself on the opposite ledge. _Cow._ "Here you go, Lillith," he said as mildly as he could manage. She craned her neck to inspect the cup he held in his hand from a distance. _Why don't you come over here and sniff it, you bitch?_ She seemed content with the look of it; she waved her hand over the chasm.

"Rock to rock and stone to stone, span the pit and cross the zone!" she intoned. A smooth bridge of rock appeared where before there hadn't been any. He stomped over and handed her the goblet.

"There, now that wasn't so hard, was it, pumpkin?" she condescended. Motley just looked at her balefully.

"Remember your side of the deal, Lillith," he said and stalked out of the exit.

KNIGHTMARE

Motley entered the cathedral room of level two and ran down the stairs, long before Ben was due to get here. He looked around him to see what was in the room. Up in the air, suspended like the ghost she was, floated the white face of the Oracle of Confusion, staring blankly into the middle distance. Her mouth worked but for now he couldn't hear her. He'd listen to her in a minute. He walked over to the table to see what was on it: there was a talisman, a bunch of carrots, a bottle of poison and a key. He picked up the talisman experimentally.

Instantly he felt it sap his energy: a destructor! Just as he'd thought. He dropped it hastily back onto the table top and shivered, his body clearly willing to shake loose of the talisman's destructive powers.

He knew it was wrong to meddle with quests, but he'd already seen that Ben's team didn't maneuver him very well and he wondered whether they'd be sharp enough to drop the talisman before it sucked the dungeoneer dry of life. He shuffled uncomfortably as he wrestled with his conscience: maybe he should leave it? Then he thought, _Hennae,_ which seemed to make the decision for him. He picked it up, marched toward the exit, and dropped it out of sight into the darkness between rooms. Ben could never find it there.

He returned to the centre of the room and looked to the Oracle again. Perhaps she would say something helpful. He decided to listen: he stood with feet at shoulder-width to help keep his balance, and shut his eyes tightly. Her voice filtered in: "The mean is the sum of the parts divided by the number of parts. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. The wasted trajectory of a life is mourned by the oldest and wisest. All action is opposed. All action is opposed. All action is-" That was all she was able to say for now. He opened his eyes.

He reviewed what the ghost had said. Was that any help? Perhaps not, they were just ramblings about action being opposed. And that was just the kind of uninformative stuff she usually said. Motley's mind flickered to the fact that there was a lot of opposition in the dungeons, like Merlin and his alter ego Mogdred. Then he paused. _Could Merlin help?_Motley wondered tentatively, and then realised he might be onto something.

Merlin was a high wizard - an incredibly powerful denizen of the dungeon. Usually he discouraged other dungeon folk from asking him for help - his nature might have been benign, but he wasn't prepared to nurse anybody through the dungeon. If you were tough enough to live here, you survived. If not... Merlin wouldn't stand in the way of your fate. But Motley and Hennae's situation, that wasn't a case of either leaning on Merlin's charity. Motley genuinely needed the kind of help Merlin might offer. _I can! I can ask him!_ Motley realised. Trading with Merlin wasn't easy - what would such an advanced wizard want from the less independant folks of the dungeon? But this situation, Motley thought, was unusual. This wasn't about keeping goblins away or conjuring nutrient spells. This was about saving a child's life.

Now Motley knew where to go - he set off eagerly for Merlin's throne room.

KNIGHTMARE

Motley entered the throne room. This was a place of magic, suspended high in the sky but as cosy as a parlour. It was high enough that, if you looked down through the hole in the floor, you could see the curve of the earth. Stars shone outside, but they didn't twinkle. And yes, that hole in the floor: that empty space loomed in front of him, a barrier that prevented most visitors from getting to the wizard's throne. Motley looked at the space in desperation: he didn't know all of the steps. He only knew the second one: the rabbit.

Well, one step was better than none at all. He put his hands to his head and mimed a pair of rabbit's ears; the middle section of the bridge appeared by magic. Steeling himself - for the drop below him was an unenviable one - he sprang from this side of the room onto the square. Immediately he stuck out his arms to balance himself, fearful that he'd lose his footing and go plummeting into the unknown. But he didn't. Looking around him, he wondered what to do next. Call, he supposed.

"MERLIN!" he shouted. Thunder crashed around him and Merlin appeared in a shaft of light, already sitting on his throne.

"I say, Motley, what is all of this about?" he asked irritably. He frowned at the jester, narrowing his eyes as he probed the jester's mind and perceived the reason for his presence. Motley shivered; Merlin had some scary powers, but this was the scariest - partly because he couldn't feel the probing. Then, all of a sudden, the wizard's brows raised and he sat back. "Of course. Of course, my good man. I'm most dreadfully sorry."

"What am I supposed to do, Merlin?" he asked, his voice cracking with emotion. "She's my little girl."

"The first thing you must do is stand on better ground," Merlin said decisively. For a moment Motley thought the old man was being philosophical, but then the wizard waved his arm. The other two sections of the bridge appeared. Motley looked down at them for a moment and then walked closer to Merlin. "That's better," the wizard said, clearly satisfied. "Now: the creatures I know who are most likely to steal an infant human might be, erm... goblins-"

This struck Motley like a rock dropped from the top of a cliff. _Oh, God, oh God! No no no no no,_ he thought in panic. The bridge, and the black chasm, began to swirl around him: for an adult to be cornered by goblins was horrible enough. But for little Hennae..? Suddenly Motley felt his legs give from under him and he stumbled. What was the use in carrying on if the goblins had taken her?

Hard, bony fingers gripped his forearm and he came to just in time. Teetering on the edge of the bridge he made the effort to pull himself back on course. "Motley," Merlin's voice came to him sternly, and he focused on it. "Motley. It won't have been the goblins. Listen to me and hear me: _the goblins haven't taken her_. Hennae was a young baby and she would have woken if they had picked her up. She would have cried and alerted you of their presence herself if they had tried to take her away. Moving an infant without waking it would take more skill than those beasts have."

Motley looked at Merlin. "Well, who else could it have been?" The look on Merlin's face made it clear he had the answer.

"It might well have been Mogdred," the wizard said quietly. Motley's heart felt like it was ready to double in on itself - the idea that Mogdred had taken her was in some ways worse than the goblins. Mogdred was not mindlessly barbaric, but he knew some very dark magic. Darker than Motley could even imagine. _Why does he want my daughter?_ his mind wailed.

"Why?" he whispered, suddenly hoarse. Did he want to hear the answer? No, but he had to.

Merlin tilted his head at the jester as if considering how to reply, and then said carefully: "Young infants are useful in dark magic for turning into monsters. They're still newly-formed enough that they can be moulded, like clay. I don't know for certain, Motley, but I very much suspect Hennae is with Mogdred."

_A clue! At last, a clue!_ "Where exactly?"

Merlin walked back onto his side of the chasm, inviting Motley to follow. There, he spread his arms toward the brick wall and conjured a map of level three. He pointed to a particular room, highlighting it. "There, I think," he said. "He might conceivably be here... or even here... But if he means to remould her then he will do so in his laboratory; here.

"The fastest, and safest route you can take is this one," Merlin continued, tracing a line that left a strong white mark through the corridors and rooms and doorways of the lower dungeon. "If you find her before he has worked his magic she will be fine. But if he has begun to hex her then treat her with care - for she may be either vulnerable or dangerous. Go with luck, Motley."

Motley nodded at all of this. So he had to steal Hennae back from Mogdred. He felt honed and spear-sharp. Merlin subtly motioned behind him and he turned to see a doorway. Turning to the wizard and giving him one last look of thanks and determination, he sped along the edge of the room and through the doorway, sprinting into the beginning of level three with all the speed his legs would grant him.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	3. Chapter 3

The Jester's Child

DISCLAIMER: Knightmare is (c) Tim Child. This fanfiction has been written for entertainment purposes only. Permission to reproduce this specific material may be granted by the author so long as you email first. (c)2008 .

CHAPTER 3

Merlin tilted his head in response to Ben's incorrect answer. He'd just asked the boy two questions, only one of which had been answered correctly. Usually that meant that he wouldn't give the dungeoneer any magic, but at this stage of the game, that would be Ben's death knell. He decided, on this occasion, that he would let the boy off and gift him with magic. In such unusual circumstances he could hardly sit by and let Motley's groundwork to go waste.

"Falsehood," he began regretfully. "That isn't the truth I sought. That's one correct answer. Ahead lies the deepest part of the dungeon, level three, and there resides Mogdred, my alter. I cannot help you with him directly as we must never be in eachother's presence; we are two incompatible halves of the same entity, and the result of our proximity would be inconceivable. However, he has the jester's daughter and intends to practise magic on her, and he must be stopped. When you have banished him you must call me. My calling name is Merlin. Call it three times and I will appear.

"Cast the spell I shall give you now, called HALT. It will stop any spell Mogdred places on Hennae until I can see her for myself and treat her properly."

He fell silent and waited for Ben's response. Several seconds later, Ben murmured, "Thank you," sheepishly. Merlin bid them farewell with a subtle nod of the head and transported himself to another place in time and space.

KNIGHTMARE

Motley was in level three already. So far he'd made good progress, but that was about to change. He looked around the room he'd just entered. Around the room slept a herd of cavernwights. Six or seven - they were such baggy, drab-coloured creatures he couldn't tell the exact number - lay piled on top of eachother like a litter of whelps in the way of the exit. There was no way past them without waking them up; he'd have to lure them away to get by. Steeling himself, he took a breath and skipped into the centre of the room.

"'Allo, tube-faces!" he announced gleefully. Several of the figures twitched; one lifted its head. "You're a lazy-looking lot! You know what you should do? Get up, wash her faces and get some exercise. In fact, why not come along with your host, Motley, for a long, healthy walk?"

A few of the creatures got clumsily to their feet and began to sniff in his direction. One he hadn't seen - hiding in the shadows behind a rock beside him - lurched forward, trying to grab him, and he stepped hastily out of its way. _Brute,_ he thought. "You're gunna 'ave to do better than that! Ha ha! Come on then, ugly features, follow me!"

And with at least half a dozen of the blind monsters in tow, he ducked through into the next room.

He emerged above a dark and uninviting chasm. Underfoot was a narrow rocky ledge. At the other side was a similar ledge, with just a narrow bridge of rock between them. He looked around briefly, keeping half an ear open for the throaty gurgling of the cavernwights behind him. If he was careful, he reckoned, he could get across to the other side and then climb back around while the monsters carried on walking across the bridge. Or could he..? The walls looked slippery: algae grew on the lumpy, smooth rocks. And if he fell...

He heard a gurgle to his left and he looked at the group of cavernwights. They'd entered the room and were dangerously close. He needed no further encouragement: he stepped onto the bridge and walked to the halfway point and then looked around. The first reached the edge of the ledge and then shuffled along, searching for a way forward. It found the bridge, tested its width with its sensitive foot and tentatively took its first step onto the bridge. There was no way Motley could go back now, and back was the most direct route to Mogdred's laboratory. He'd have to try to get back - he didn't know the level well enough to go the long way 'round, and each room in level three had a very real potential to get the better of him. He decided to risk the climb.

He crossed the bridge carefully to the opposite side of the room. Over here there'd been a small landslide from higher up and small rocks littered the ledge. But the rock directly along from him had been in place for a long time and was still very slippery-looking. It didn't look promising. But what choice did he have? _The sooner I do this the sooner I can get to Hennae,_ he thought grimly. He took hold of a rounded outcrop and looked for a foothold.

One of the cavernwights trumpeted in alarm and he looked over just in time to see it fall from the bridge. Motley watched in sick fascination as it disappeared into the dark. _Melly._ Then a thought occurred to him: perhaps the cavernwights wouldn't be able to get across at all? Their stance was wide - their short legs were incapable of negotiating the narrowest part of the bridge. Why hadn't he thought of that before?

That meant they couldn't get over here, but if they stayed over there how could he get back? His plan had been to get them over _here_. Motley looked from the cavernwights, to the wall he'd intended to climb, to the rocks around his feet. Suddenly the hopelessness of the situation got the better of him and he saw red. _Some use this is!_ he thought angrily and he picked up a stone. He threw it with some force into the chasm; anything to dispel some of his frustration.

The leading cavernwight turned its head briefly to sniff at the air where the rock had been as it hurtled past, and then tried afresh to cross the narrow point. An idea came to Motley...

He picked up another stone. Aiming carefully, he hurled it at the cavernwight - and hit it! It groaned and turned, and as it did, it lost its footing and fell down into the depths. _That's it! That's what I have to do!_ Motley realised, and crouched down to load his arms with rocks. Standing up again, he aimed a stone at the next cavernwight.

He hit it square on the shoulder and it half-twisted, only just able to keep its balance. Ready with the next rock, Motley watched it continue its attempt to get over. He knew he could deal with the monsters now, but this was going to take a while...

KNIGHTMARE

Mogdred held his hands gently over the infant, chanting quietly and drawing on the powers of the piles of herb and animal matter he had placed around her. Although he did not open his eyes to see her - his concentration was needed for this part of the transformation - he knew that her skin was toughening as the magic took hold.

"Verto tergum in crusta, planto cruor in debilito, vescor sol solis quod imbibo pluvia," he murmured, as he had done so dozens of times already. He had much more of this to do, but when he finished, the hex would be virtually complete. Soon the child would grow into her newly-configured body. And then she would be-

"Where am I?" a young voice rang out. Mogdred was so startled he jumped, breaking the hex mid-spellcast. He whipped around, furious.

"_Back_, little dungeoneer!" he snapped, filigrees of magic stinging his flesh. It was unhealthy to be broken out of a spell halfway through and he suspected that this particular one would hurt him a great deal over the next day or so. Worse, he had lost track of the point he had got to in developing his monster! Unless she could survive at the stage he had brought her to, the whole exercise might well have been ruined. For that, he would punish this young upstart. Behind him, Hennae started to cry; a heaving, worried cry. Mogdred knew that it meant she was uncomfortable as he, but he paid her no heed.

The dungeoneer stood still, looking typically useless, just inside the doorway. Mogdred began to focus his powers. "I do not take well to being disturbed, especially in my own space," he intoned. "Quail, dungeoneer, for now I destroy you!" He cackled. Still the dungeoneer didn't move. For blindfolded children they were stubborn little creatures; he'd never been entirely sure why they weren't visibly frightened by his presence. Well, if this one wouldn't be intimidated then it would die for its arrogance! He flicked his hands briefly to rid them off the bee-sting pain. "Spellcasting. S-W-O-R-D." From the non-existent spaces in the air where magic hid, a ghostly sword materialised. Conjured by Mogdred, it sought the dungeoneer and floated closer to the young lad. The wizard folded his arms and watched in satisfaction.

Movement rustled behind the dungeoneer and somebody else dared to enter Mogdred's domain. Ben stumbled to one side as a second intruder barged his way in and stood there panting. In a flash Mogdred knew who it was: the yellow and red cloth and daft coxcomb gave it away - it was the baby's father, the jester! He stood there gasping for breath as if he had sprinted straight into hell. Mogdred knew this man's name - it was Motley - but cared little: names were of no use to those about to lose their lives.

Mogdred was just about to taunt the jester when Motley himself opened his mouth. "Dis-spell: W-S-O-R-D!" he cried. To Mogdred's chagrin, the sword disappeared.

So the jester thought he would play, did he? Mogdred most certainly was not about to be out-spellcast by a common fool! He twitched as sudden discomfort spiked into one side of his neck and then smiled malevolently. "I see. Will you not make yourself comfortable, jester? I am sure I can make your stay worthwhile." Motley, his breath still heaving, looked curiously at him, clearly unsure of what Mogdred meant. Mogdred flicked his hand toward the crying infant as if to hurt her and the jester flinched, clearly keen to protect her. Mogdred chuckled cruelly and then hissed as the magic bit his flesh again. _Argh! Damnable spell!_ he thought. "Take a seat!" With a subtle movement of his fingers, Motley was gripped by an invisible rope of magic, one that pulled painfully at the fibres of his muscles and sent him crashing to the ground, beset by cramp. Mogdred watched him writhe in agony and laughed.

KNIGHTMARE

In the antechamber, Simon fumbled with his clipboard and then called to Ben, "Err, Ben? I'm going to cast this HALT spell, okay? So... halt, spellcasting: H... A..."

Mogdred turned unerringly in the direction of the view Simon had of the room and pointed straight at him accusingly. "NOT ANOTHER WORD!" he commanded. Simon obediently shut his mouth in response to Mogdred's command. Were the Knightmare characters supposed to turn aggressive at the team? Mogdred stared challengingly straight into Simon's eyes and he found that he was frightened. He decided not to try the spellcast again and sat as still as he could, trembling slightly.

In response to Simon's intimidation, Treguard rose from his seat. "Mogdred! You know the rules, it is forbidden to meddle with the g..." Mogdred held an arm - which twitched as if he'd just received an electric jolt - in Treguard's direction. He sank back into the seat and his head lolled. Simon - and the other advisors, who had turned around to look at Treguard - looked back at the screen: Mogdred returned their gaze gleefully.

"I'll have no such interruptions!" he grinned. Simon hadn't realised that Mogdred was so frightening; he didn't want to be here any more. He didn't even dare look at his fellow advisors, but if their silence was anything to go by, they didn't have the guts to cast the spell either.

KNIGHTMARE

Ben stood listening to all of this, unable to see much except for the tips of Mogdred's shoes, the flagstones underfoot and part of Motley's curled-up form. As he shifted his weight uncertainly from one foot to the other, Motley tapped his ankle as if to get his attention. He looked down.

"_Oi! Helmet-head!_" Motley whispered through gritted teeth. He sounded like he was in pain. "_Listen!_"

Ben frowned, unsure of what to do, then bent down a little to hear Motley better. Meanwhile, Motley grimaced as he levered himself tightly onto one arm. "_Distract 'im - distract Mogdred! I need to get Hennae!_"

Distract Mogdred? How could he do that? Motley pushed his ankle and, in a sudden flash of inspiration, Ben walked three or four steps away from the jester - that way, when Mogdred talked to him, he wouldn't be looking at Motley as well. Ben listened to Mogdred as the wizard spoke: "I'll have no such interruptions!" Mogdred drawled. Ben didn't know what he meant by that. But, Motley had just given him an instruction, so he tried:

"You have to stop!" Ben called out. Silence fell.

"I beg your pardon?" Mogdred replied.

"You... you can't do this; y-you have to stop." Ben heard Mogdred's indignant intake of breath and froze instinctively. He suddenly felt that standing up to Mogdred was a very bad idea indeed.

"I hope you do not seek to command me, tiny dungeoneer!"

"I... You can't kill Hennae or... I mean-" Ben stammered. "'Cos it's a bad idea and you..."

Mogdred laughed softly, a sound that, although quieter than Ben's nervous rambling, made him stop talking. Ben had known that he'd encounter a villain or two on this quest, but now he was here he was terrified. Was he meant to feel lucky that all of this acting was being done for his and his team's benefit? Maybe. But he didn't really like it. It felt too _real._ "Can I not, young Ben? Indeed. And what will you give to me in return for sparing the infant's life?"

Ben had no idea what to say. Through the Helmet of Justice he heard Simon: "Tell him you'll do anything!"

"I'll do anything you want, I- Just..."

That soft laugh again, this time cut off by a grunt of- what? Indignation? Discomfort? Mogdred's shoes moved slightly as the wizard shifted balance suddenly. Was something wrong with him? Ben had no time to think about this and instead listened to the man's words: "I may choose to spare your life if you pledge yourself to me, and me alone. Do you so pledge?"

Was it a good idea to say yes? Ben wondered whether he was about to spell the end of their time in the dungeon and paused.

KNIGHTMARE

Motley had been struck with cramp from top to toe - even his face hurt. His limbs were stiff and almost useless with pain. However much he stretched, he couldn't seem to get rid. Part of him just wanted to curl up until the pain disappeared. But one thing kept his arms and legs moving: his need to get to Hennae. Eyes shut tightly - partly because of the cramp, partly because of the fear of seeing Mogdred turn to face him - he turned onto his front and levered himself up onto his hands and knees. He let himself be guided by Hennae's whimpering.

Now she was directly above him; now the sound was closer as he wrenched his body into a kneeling position; now he felt her swaddling as he put every bit of effort he could into uncurling his fingers; now he reached over her to get a grip on her - and he had her! He scooped her from the tabletop and hugged her close against his chest. Her cry sounded strange: he'd never heard her cry like this before. Was she in pain? Had Mogdred worked enough magic on her to hurt her? Just for these few seconds he wanted to savour having her back. With his baby returned at last, he wept with relief. Only now did he dare open his eyes.

He looked at the evil wizard just as Mogdred's head turned. Their eyes met. Motley would have glared at him, but the pain still made him almost helpless. Mogdred looked irate, on the verge of losing his temper. He spread his arms wide, momentarily clenched his shoulders and then seemed to recover himself, and said, "Spellcasting! S-W-O-R-D!"

The sword filtered into existence again and floated in his direction. Motley's energy had gone and all he could do was slouch back onto his feet. He just couldn't move fast enough to evade it or unclench his jaw. _I'm sorry, Hennae,_ he thought in dispair.

KNIGHTMARE

Mogdred offered the jester a twisted smile as the sword travelled toward him, and then grabbed his arm as the magic sparked there; it felt as if sections of his flesh were being sliced, and it was getting worse. The fool's death would be quick, but with the chaos unfolding in his laboratory and the disruption the wasted spell was causing, there was little he could do about that. He had dared take the infant back, and such audacity was not to go unpunish- "Dispell! D... R... O... W...S!" came a disconnected shout from far away, in Treguard's antechamber. The sword disappeared. Mogdred growled and faced the view of the antechamber again just as the magic made all his muscles convulse. He barely held back from crying out and paused a moment to regain his composure. _How dare they! Filthy little peasants!_ If they would play dispelling games then he would foil them another way: with countermagic! They had almost used a HALT spell earlier - well, without that, the baby would be too fragile to survive - or too dangerous to escape!

Oh, but it would be tragic if they had no way to save the child! To have travelled all this way only to squander their only HALT spell and then watch as she either died in the fool's arms or killed Motley and the dungeoneer! And if that happened, the joy of watching Treguard's powerlessness at having a dryad-human in his dungeon! Mogdred was the only one here with the knowledge to save Hennae - or the others here, if she revealed herself to be dangerous. What if he were to disappear? The thought appealed to him... At that moment the spell sliced at him again and he doubled over in agony. He ground his teeth as he forced himself to stand upright again. He would _not_ be seen to be weak in front of these halfwits! _But the pain..._ Mogdred reached a decision: he would leave, and watch this scene unfold from somewhere private where he could sit out the spell's onslaught in peace. The cruellest part of Mogdred's mind revelled in his new plan - without him present, there'd be no saving them!

"Very well, if that is how wish it!" he snapped. "Spellcasting: V-O-I-D!"

He felt the tingle of magic in the air as the VOID spell hung itself like an invisible web that would catch any further spell being cast before it reached its target. He stiffened as the hex caught him once more. _Damn this spell!_ After a pause that felt more like a minute, he heard the spellcaster from Ben's team cry out again: "Spellcasting! H-A-L-T!" The spell was spent, and crumbled in VOID's undetectable strands. The team no longer had the medicinal spell for the infant!

"Well, on that note I shall leave you," he gloated, his grinning expression fixed firmly enough on his face to stop it contorting into one of pain. "Farewell dungeoneer, and don't dwell too long on your impending failure!" With a final laugh, he disappeared from the scene altogether.

As he left, the magic he had woven from his laboratory collapsed - the fool's cramp, the dungeon master's trance and the VOID spell. But that didn't matter: Ben and his spies had nothing left for VOID to block in any case.

KNIGHTMARE

Treguard stretched, dazed. He looked up and saw three advisors. _Has the season started?_ he thought. Evidently it had. He craned his neck to see over their shoulders and looked into the portal between them and their dungeoneer. _Oh, of course: Ben._ More noticeable was the fact that they were deep in the dungeon. Level three, it looked like. His grip on the armrest tightened. _Just what happened?_ Motley kneeled clutching his daughter by a marble table, stretching one arm as if testing it. Ben stood helplessly a few steps away from him. The advisors looked at eachother hopelessly. Motley's baby was crying, almost madly, he thought with a stab of concern.

_Mogdred!_ the facts finally came back to Treguard and he stood. "What happened, team?" he asked.

At first they looked at eachother as if uncertain how to respond. "Mogdred took away our HALT spell and er, disappeared."

"Disappeared," Treguard mused quietly. He watched as Motley rose to his feet - clearly free now of the cramp Mogdred had placed on him - and tried to comfort Hennae, who cried regardless. Sure enough, Mogdred was nowhere to be seen. There was only one thing left to do, so he prompted the team: "Well, team, you've beaten Mogdred. Now's your chance to finish what you started here."

The advisors huddled together to discuss their next move.

"What now?"

"I think we're supposed to call Merlin now, aren't we?"

"Yeah. Okay, how do we do that?"

James checked his notes for a moment, and then spoke to Ben. "Ben?"

"Yes?"

"You need to call Merlin now, so call his name three times, okay?"

"MERLIN, MERLIN, MERLIN!"

Thunder crashed, and Merlin's form materialised. "And here I am!" he announced brightly. "Now, what happened here?" He fell into a pensive silence and Treguard guessed that he was busy perceiving the events that had occurred here. He craned his neck as he noted Motley holding Hennae. He looked around briefly and noted Ben's presence. Apparently satisfied that all else was well, he turned back to Motley.

"Motley, my good man, I believe Hennae is due a spell. Keep still, everybody. Spellcasting: H-A-L-T!"

The sound of Hennae's crying changed almost instantly; she sounded freer. As Merlin stood in silence - his signal to everybody to relax for a few moments after the drama he perceived had occurred here - Treguard listened to Hennae. Gradually she quietened and Motley cuddled her afresh, keen, it seemed, to comfort her. He moved the swaddling out of the way to see her face and Treguard saw with alarm that her skin had turned a greenish-brown. His heart went out to Motley for a moment - was the child all right? Was she a danger? She appeared to yawn and the sound she made was more akin to branches splitting. Motley brushed her cheek and she reached out to grab his finger. When she did, Motley seemed to wince and try to free himself. As Motley looked back up he caught Merlin's eye again and the wizard nodded at him, and then turned to Ben.

"I must say a very hearty well-done to you, and to your team for your success so far. I can tell you that the second object of your quest is not far away. The exit is behind me. I bid you good luck."

Treguard knew Merlin well enough to understand that the wizard had dismissed them. "Well, team, you've done all you can here. Guide Ben out!"

And as the team did just that, Treguard watched Merlin walk up to Motley and talk quietly to him, his hand on the younger man's shoulder. They had business of their own to attend to.

KNIGHTMARE

From an isolated spot somewhere at the beginning of level three, Mogdred twisted in agony, pressing at his muscles in each in turn with his hands and trying to massage the pain out of them. The pain wasn't going away, but he'd known it wouldn't. In between these efforts, he watched his alter ego undo all his work. _Damn Merlin!_ he fumed, helpless.

The final nail in the coffin came when Merlin put a sickeningly supportive hand on the fool's shoulder and whisked him away to his study.

_You doddering imbecile, Merlin,_ Mogdred thought acidly. _All your power, and you use it only for good. I hope you realise one day soon how much of your time you've wasted-_

With that, the spell finally dug into his body like a swarm of burrowing lice and, with an unholy moan, he surrendered, curling up into a ball to let it finish its onslaught.

KNIGHTMARE

Ben walked a few more steps and then stopped. "Where am I?"

His team buzzed quietly at the limits of his hearing for a moment before they answered. "You're in a room with four windows around the edges and a... sort of... pillar in the centre. On top of it, I think, is the cup. So can you walk forward, please?"

Ben walked forward. Soon enough the base of a pillar came into view in the gap under the Helmet of Justice. He shuffled a touch closer so that he could see the top of the pillar, which came up to about waist height. On top of it sat the chalice. "Do you want me to take it?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Simon.

Ben reached out; he felt its contours. He held it in his hands - the cup, one of the famous quest objects of Knightmare!

"Well done, team!" Treguard boomed, "You've conquered the dungeon! Well done!"

KNIGHTMARE

It had been several hours since Merlin had brought Motley to his study, but Motley was relieved to see that Hennae looked happier now that the old wizard had worked his own wholesome magic on her. What he wasn't so happy about was Hennae's very obvious scars.

Her skin was like the bark of a sapling - not wrinkled, but tough and slightly cold to the touch. Her grip, though she was a baby and her grip had always been strong anyway - was now verging on superhuman. He suspected his finger would be bruised for a few days from where she had gripped it earlier. And her voice was... richer? Drier? He wasn't sure what to make of it, but her gurgles and cries weren't quite human any more. He felt horribly guilty that he'd let her get like this. What would life be like for her?

Merlin put a hand on his shoulder and he cleared his throat to shake loose the tears he felt rising. "D'you think she's gunna be all right?" he asked, a little more briskly than he'd meant to.

The wizard seemed to understand. "It would be difficult to tell what the long term influence will be, Motley. But I have done everything I can. Just remember that, although she can eat, she needs to get out in the fresh air and see some daylight once or twice a week. And remember what I told you: no fluids except water.

"Teach her as you would have if she were fully human and she should grow up with very human mannerisms." Then he seemed to pause, and Motley got the impression that Merlin was about to say something he wouldn't like. He steeled himself as Merlin made to speak again. "If she grows any foliage," Merlin began and Motley felt his face fall, "let a few grow but not too many. She might need a few leaves to survive but to let her grow branches might disfigure her." Motley suddenly felt quite weak.

"Prune 'er?"

Merlin sighed, and looked at Motley sympathetically. "Yes."

Motley's tears did come then and he turned away from Merlin to try to hide them. Merlin sat patiently while he got himself back under control. As he wiped them discreetly away he wondered, _What if Mogdred gets hold of her again?_ Would he have to protect her from the evil wizard all her life? He opened his mouth and turned to Merlin to ask him. But, to his surprise, Merlin was already smiling.

"I've spoiled this project for Mogdred - he can't touch her."

Motley blinked at him. "Oh?"

"Think of it as magic's equivalent of a padlock, and only I have the key. He can't stand my presence any more than I can his, so he'll never get it from me.

"Now, are you ready to be transported back home?" Motley nodded; he was definitely ready to go home. He was exhausted. "Vado domus!"

The study began to melt around him and he held his daughter close. She mewed strangely and he wondered how long it would take to get used to her as she now was. As the familiar confines of their home materialised around them he looked at her again. Her deep, animal-like brown eyes may not have been human but they were bright and healthy. She seemed relaxed and contented. Despite the lingering horror he felt at her condition he tried a smile and, to his surprise, didn't find it as hard as he'd thought. She was still his daughter and she always would be. Nothing could take that away from them.

THE END


End file.
